It's crunch time and with only two full days left before we start vacationing, I'm scrambling to tie up some loose ends, organize our apartment and get everything packed in time for our Wednesday flight. In the midst of all this sorting and packing, I'm noticing a trend with my packing rationale, and I'm starting to realize how segregated my wardrobe is. Living in two different yet equally dashing cities has caused a multiple-personality disorder in my closet. It's interesting to see how how many articles of clothing I have hanging or folded that have never seen the light of a Paris day. And, it's crystal clear to me that my fashion sense is split up into two very distinct wardrobes.

My Paris wardrobe is so much younger, edgier and totally trendy. Black flats, low-heeled boots, tapered-leg jeans, tunics, and layering sweaters in monochromatic tones. Practical streetwear for my city-girl lifestyle. And my rain boots and umbrella are always within arms' reach in the likely event that the rain clouds roll through after a perfectly sun-drenched morning. Ah, Paris.

Contrastingly, my non-Paris wardrobe (or I suppose my Austin wardrobe) consists of flip-flops, multicolored tank-tops, strappy stilettos, pumps and sandals, tube-tops and patterned dresses. Anything that I can get an even tan in while running around during the day or be comfortable walking in from the parking garage to happy hour in the evening. Rarely is there a need for sweaters or boots, umbrellas or coats, yet a week's worth of swimsuits are always on hand should a spontaneous trip to the pool or lake be required.

Sifting through my "take" and "don't take" piles, it's pretty clear to see the lines that divide my two-faced wardrobe - comfort and color. Paris is a walking city, and that's pretty evident by the amount of flats and low-heels that I'm planning to leave behind while I'm vacationing in Austin. I thought I'd wean myself back into wearing longer talons by sporting a pair while out on the town last night, and man did I remember quickly why heels and Paris just don't mix! It's just as well, though because I seem to fit in well enough with the flat-shoe-sportin' boho crowd that I frequently find myself surrounded by. And, as funky as I consider my Parisian-leaning wardrobe to be, I find it's far less colorful than its American counterpart. I don't know why exactly, but I've somehow managed to steer far away from the festive hues while running through the rues. I'd like to think that it's a side-effect of the less-than-festive attitude I've adopted since becoming a resident of the "least friendly European city," but I'm pretty sure it's simply a case of wanting to fit in. Bright colors can get big stares here and I'm of the kind that favor blending in more than sticking out, so I tend to keep it neutral.

I'm excited about stepping back into my heels without the added worry of how far the walk will be to the metro, and I'm looking forward to going strapless once again without the added self-consciousness that comes from gawking, sleeve-wearing pedestrians. Paris may be the best-dressed city in Europe, but although I'd like to think that I contributed to that title, I'm pretty sure I stayed at home when they took that survey. So, I'm enthusiastically leaving comfy and drab behind for these next few weeks to remind myself what it feels like to be part of a fashionable world without paying mind to the typical concerns of a foot-traveler. Which, coincidentally, gives me another excuse to do some shoe-shopping.

I don't remember when it happened. I just remember being surprised at how real and perplexing my feelings were. How could it be that just when Gui and I start to get serious and down-to-business about our plans to move back to Texas, I begin to have emotional attachment issues with my current home? I suppose it was crazy for me to never consider that I'd be sad about leaving Paris; that I'd miss the place and people; that I'd be nostalgic about our impending departure. Well, I am.

Although nothing is set in stone, yet, there is a very real possibility that I could be employed before heading back from our upcoming Texas vacation, meaning that our far-flung plans to live back in Austin could be a reality before the year is over. We've started the paperwork for Gui's green card, and despite what we've read on websites and forums, the lovely lady at the consulate told us that we could have the answer to our petition in just a few months (given that we do and provide everything that we're asked to). 'Gotta hand it to us Americans for our efficiency.

Still, as the possibility of leaving Paris looms over me, I find myself feeling overwhelmingly conflicted about my sentimental feelings. This is not going to be as easy of a step to take as I had presumed, and that makes me both surprised and concerned. What if we're not making the right decision to move back now? What if we fall on our faces? What if I get there and realize I want to be back in Paris? Well, I don't really know the answers to any of these questions, but I suppose I'll never know without giving it a shot, right?

Taking the cue from my sister, I've decided to pull myself back from my blogging hiatus with a summary post of what things are looking like 'round here these days. I hardly know where to start! The most notable difference in my life right now are my eating habits. Last week, I had all of my wisdom teeth removed during what I like to refer to as a nightmarish, hell-of-an-operation. My bottom teeth were impacted and, as the doctor confirmed, presented a few difficulties during the surgery. Beside the pain, puffy cheeks and complications from the surgery, the after-effects from the general anesthesia left me feeling like my mouth had been in a fight with Edward Scissorhands. I know time heals everything, and as I start to recover from the trauma caused by my everyday dental operation, I'm realizing how typical my experience really was. That's not to say I'd ever do anything like that again, but I find comfort in knowing I'm not the only one who suffered so horribly. Is that bad?


Gui and I are preparing for our big Texas trip coming up in about two weeks now. It's hard to know where to even begin planning such a long trip; I'll be gone for nearly two months and Gui's coming back after one month. Of course we have plans to see family, I've got my 10-year high school reunion to attend (yikes!), and we'll be making the rounds to see our friends and their families. But, I guess we're mostly looking forward to taking a peek at what our lives could be like living back in Austin. We've started the paperwork for Gui's green card, and I've been scouring the web for jobs and polishing my CV in preparation for the impending job-hunt. Until now, the idea of moving back had been more of a surreality than reality, but if all the chips fall into place as we hope, I could be starting a new job while I'm still on vacation. The job market is a vastly different place in Texas than it is in Paris, and that's something I'd sort of naively forgotten. Over dinner last night, we went over possible scenarios and tried to work out details for dilemmas we might find ourselves in, but it's just impossible to know how it will (or won't) all work out. We're resolved to go at it confidently, but aware of the reality of our situation and the possibility of disappointment.

So, these days, I'm spending my time recovering and planning, although I wish I was spending more time using the new sewing machine I purchased a couple of weeks ago.

It's nothing fancy, but it's got a European plug and I was hoping when I bought it that it would be the creative catalyst I feel is missing my from vie quotidienne. I still have a couple of weeks before vacation starts, though and I'm thinking I might be able to crank something out for one of my new nephews who are scheduled to arrive soon. And, can I just say how stokedI am for a family full of boys?!

I can't stop thinking about the passengers on flight 447, about their families, their friends and loved ones who are trying to make sense of it all.

It just makes me feel so unbelievably sad.

And lucky, and slightly apprehensive.

Is it crazy that I'm still holding out hope that they might all be floating around the Atlantic on life boats waiting to be rescued? Crazy or not, I'm hoping and praying.

It's hard to believe that Gui and I moved into our apartment just over a year ago; that last year we were organizing our new life as a married couple - running through the aisles of Ikea weekend after weekend, building and rebuilding furniture; that I was setting out into the unknown world that is Paris with no friends nor any idea of what my life would be like here. It's crazy how much can change in one year.

Paris has gone from being a confusing labyrinth of roundabouts to an easily navigable town wherein lie my regular hideouts, favorite patisseries and most-frequented shoe shops. I know where I can go if I need to pick out buttons for my latest knitting project, if I'm all out of baking soda or need to get a gift for out-of-town guests. Meeting friends or family for dinner in the middle of town is no longer a strenuous task and I know exactly how long it takes me to get from one stop on a metro line to another. Add into the mix a solid set of friendly faces that I regularly meet up with for coffee, picnics, drinks and dinner-parties, and there could hardly exist a better definition of home.

Yet, continuously fermenting in the back of my mind is the thought of returning to Austin, and it's because of that thought that I've never really embraced Paris as I really should have. The walls of our apartment are still bare because I'm hesitating to "homify" the place; our kitchen still lacks a mixer, real coffee maker and blender, and my clothes go un-hemmed for lack of a sewing machine because I'm resisting the urge to buy things I already have back in the US. I keep telling myself, "Oh, well, it's just a waste of money if I do that or buy this since we're going to move back to Texas anyway." And thus, my nostalgic feelings and homesickness settle in, making Paris feel less like home and more like an inconvenient place to be.

I think after settling into the reality of what I thought my life would be like here - exhausting French classes, more coat-wearing than flip-floppping, a tiny kitchen and even tinier bathroom, walking instead of driving, putting my career on permanent hold and taking out loans to stock-up on refried beans - I just kind of decided to give up on my efforts to make myself at home. So, it's weird now. I feel like I physically live here, but mentally see it as a mere means to an end. And who wants to live like that?

I think the epiphany came when I was at a book-signing for my favorite food blogger, David Lebovitz's latest new book. I was standing in W.H. Smith, flipping through his novel-style recipe book and realizing that I live in Paris. There I was, standing in a bookstore just in front of the Tuileries Garden, just off of Place de la Concorde, a mere 20 minutes from my apartment, waiting for friends to meet me after their day at work so that we could get our shiny, new books signed by a local author. We strolled through the neighborhood afterward for a quick drink and for one evening I really felt like I was in the place I was supposed to be. Maybe it had a little to do with the familiarity I felt when flipping through Lebovitz's book that cited familiar places and similar experiences, or maybe it was because I was in an English bookstore that reminded me of one back home, or maybe it was all the people I ran into - the friends and familiar faces that made it feel like the world is so small. However it came about, it started a series of thoughts about how I really live my life here, and I came to the realization that I've really been holding back.

Although it doesn't change much about our intention to move to Texas (which we're still planning to do in the next 4-8 months), changing my mentality about how I want to live here while we're still here (and when we return) really gives me a new perspective on how I spend my time each day. Holding back because of what might come is a silly way to pass the time, and I don't want to short-change myself from having a seriously amazing time living it up in gay Paree. I guess in short, what I wanted to say is, I'm getting a blender...and may be doing a little decorating, too.

I love knitting, but I'm always feeling a little guilty for cheating on my dusty books with my fancy yarn and needles. Reading is more of an instant gratification than knitting is for me, as I'm very much a "product knitter" (as opposed to a "process knitter"). So I find myself more often choosing to get through a few chapters than a few rows knowing that I'll be more satisfied. I can usually knit a couple of rows while watching a movie or show, but it's more of a distraction to have the TV on than anything. I know lots of people download books to listen to, but I don't really have any desire to change the traditional way in which I currently read my books. So when Aimee recommended listening to talk-radio, I was all over it. I didn't realize how much I missed listening to my favorite talk-radio stations back home until I tapped into some NPR archives and started streaming morning radio shows from my hometown. It's a little luxury that I never knew I was missing since I've been living in the land of public transportation. Belting out wrong lyrics to my favorite songs in the privacy of my own car has always been a nostalgic point for me, but I really feel like I've stumbled upon a little slice of home after tuning in to talk-radio shows these past couple of days.

Last night, while knitting, I was listening to a show Aimee had recommended called, "This American Life," and the topic of the latest broadcast was half-hearted apologies; it featured a story about a man who 40 years ago did some unethical things with dead bodies in the name of cryonics but still can't bring himself to admit his mistakes or offer a full-on apology. It was a pretty interesting story, and at the end of the show, they featured a related poem by William Carlos Williams which he supposedly wrote as a note for his wife to read. It's apparently an oft-spoofed poem, and I found myself thinking of so many ways in which I could apply its quasi-apologetic tone to my own life. So, I did, and I came up with a few spoofs of my own, one of which I'm sharing here:

This is Just to Say
by Misplaced Texan

I haven't done yesterday's dishes
or the laundry
that's been piling up all week

nor have I vacuumed
the floors that also
need a good wipe-down

Forgive me
it was sunny on my day off
and the green grass
so inviting
so plush

I've got a few posts in the works (really!), but this has been an incredibly long week for me which left me with seriously no time to myself (I should actually be in bed right now, too). Nevertheless, Easter has always been a big celebration in my family - I'm pretty sure my mom was still making me an Easter basket no more than two years ago, and I recall a day of dyed eggs and egg-hunting last year - so, I'd like to at least wish everyone a happy one this year!

My friend, Deanna sent me this link that I found seriously funny, so maybe you will, too!

Easter 2008 (and the little faces I'll be missing this year):

We got a call on Monday from our bank's anti-fraud department asking if we'd authorized a transaction at an ATM in Brazil. Uh, no. We still don't really know how our card information was stolen, but it was and it's really disturbing. I always hear and read about things like this happening to people - some high-tech thief installs a copying device at ATM machines and steals the card information from unsuspecting folks trying to take cash out, etc., etc. But, until now, I'd never been personally affected by such a scheme. We were really lucky that it wasn't a high-dollar transaction and that our bank alerted us and canceled the card before more damage could be done, but it still makes me feel absolutely violated. It also makes me rethink how we spend money and our dependence on our bankcard - I know that I'll be much more cautious and aware of who handles my card now and where we use it, even if I've always felt I was being cautious enough.

But, as if dealing with stolen credit cards isn't enough for a Monday, not long after hearing from the anti-fraud department, I found myself witness to what I've now come to understand was the SECOND robbery of an apartment in my building in a month. It was the middle of the day and a thunderous banging sounded in the stairwell just below my apartment. At first, I thought the neighbors were doing travaux again, but when the floorboards and walls of our apartment started shaking with each blow, I opened the front door to see what the heck was going on. Just as my door swung open, a woman was running up the stairs for the elevator; I know I startled her, but she nervously said bonjour and told me they were looking for someone as she let herself into the elevator and descended. I really didn't know what to think at this point, but I knew she wasn't alone because I had heard someone else running down the stairs. What's ridiculous is that I had no clue if this woman was one of our neighbors or just some strange person running through our building. It's just not common here to get to know your neighbors, to know when they're in our out and to look after things while they're gone like you do back in suburban America.

Still, the sound I had heard and the frantic demeanor of the woman made me uneasy, so I went downstairs to see if there was anything amiss. I saw bits of wood on the floor as I turned the corner of the staircase, and realized soon after that the door to the apartment below had been completely broken into. I'm not sure if a tool was used or someone kicked it in, but however they did it, they found their way past a big, heavy French-style door and into the empty apartment of an unsuspecting neighbor. I immediately called Gui to find out what I should do, but both of us were still really confused with the scenario. Perhaps it was a lover's quarrel, or maybe someone forgot their keys and was mad. Maybe that lady was our neighbor and she was off looking for whoever had damaged her door. We just didn't know what to think. I knocked on the door of the only neighbor I do know to get some advice, but she didn't answer. A couple of hours later, as more people returned from work and noticed the broken door, I went downstairs to give my account of what happened. Another neighbor had seen a man running downstairs the same time I saw the woman, but he didn't do anything, either because, like me, he had no idea what was going on.

What really disturbs me about this whole situation, though, is what I discovered today. I came home to find a sign on our building's front door warning us that someone in our building was not only burglarized this past Monday, but three Mondays ago as well (a different neighbor), yet no one bothered to tell us about the first incident until now. I know for a fact that if I had been informed of the previous burglary when I heard the sound coming from below my apartment, I would not have hesitated to call the police or even try to catch someone in the act. Not that I would have gone all "Texas-neighborhood-watch" on them (at least not in France), but maybe I could have done something! All I know is that I hope that whoever's making their robbery rounds in our building has gotten what they came for and won't be coming back again. I've never hesitated to defend myself and property and I don't imagine I'd pause to reflect should someone come and try to bang down my door.